


When I Hear My Name

by witchoil



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage, Infidelity, Sibling Incest, ambiguously canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchoil/pseuds/witchoil
Summary: The door creaks open and Tommy shakes his head without looking up. The words on the page swim, taunting him. “Go back to bed,” he says, “I’ll be there soon.”“Really, now? It’s been a long time since you’ve done that. What would your wife think?”—Tommy and Ada do something for the first time in a long time.
Relationships: Ada Shelby/Tommy Shelby
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	When I Hear My Name

**Author's Note:**

> THE HORNY SPIRIT GRIPPED ME!!! thank you to the friend who gave me this prompt — i’m so glad you enjoyed your treat!!!
> 
> full disclosure, i haven’t finished all of the show that exists (i dropped off somewhere in the middle of S3 years ago), so i’m treating canon like milk that i need for my coffee but which might have gone off a little?? apologies if this divergent.

It’s well past midnight and Tommy can tell he’s gotten old because, God, does it feel late. 

His house is dark and quiet, his wife and children are sleeping, and he is awake in his study, feeling like none of it fucking matters. He keeps trying to make sense of the letters on his desk and not for the first time wishes they were betting sheets, instead. The thing about this time of night -- which Tommy is more and more often awake for -- is that it leaves a man with the kind of clarity he crafts his daily life just to avoid. 

At one o’clock, it doesn’t matter if Tommy is sitting at an oak desk in a fucking study or at a creaky card table in a Birmingham rowhouse. But it matters that Arthur isn’t with him, smoking in the corner; that John isn’t sneaking through the cabinets looking for whiskey. It matters that the woman in his bed isn’t Grace because Grace is fucking dead, too, and it matters that none of the people he killed after ever dulled that ache. Because he’s still completely, totally fucking alone. 

The door creaks open and Tommy shakes his head without looking up. The words on the page swim, taunting him. “Go back to bed,” he says, “I’ll be there soon.” 

“Really, now? It’s been a long time since you’ve done that. What would your wife think?”

Ada is still dressed like she’s going somewhere, or like she just came back. She’s not who she was five years ago. Maybe even less than him. 

“Ada, what the fuck are you doing awake.” 

“Same as you,” she said, toeing the door closed, “not sleeping. Don’t tell me you’re still pretending to work.” 

If she were anyone else, Tommy would have shooed her.  _ I  _ am  _ working _ , he would have said, and barked at her to get back to the guest room. He didn’t consider himself a harsh patriarch, not anymore, but he didn’t tolerate toes out of line. 

But this wasn’t anybody else. This was Ada. And Ada mattered. Mattered more than anything else in this enormous joke of a house, except maybe Tommy’s kids.

“Got any better ideas?” 

“A few,” Ada said, and swung her arm forward to drop a full bottle of expensive gin on Tommy’s desk. She dropped a snuff box next to it, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and burnished at the clasp. 

“I see.” 

\--

Three drinks in, Tommy doesn’t care that he can’t read anymore. From the place he’s hanging, none of the sheets mean anything anymore. Just the petty squabbles of round-shouldered men with hands softer than his. And his sister’s. 

Ada sits upon his desk and tips another nail-full of the white powder out of the snuff box to snort. Tommy grabs her hand and brings it to his lips, licking the last dusting of the cocaine from the crevices of her skin. He swirls the bitter end of his tongue around his gums and washes it all down with gin. 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Ada says with that sweet, lopsided grin of hers, dropping her elbow to accentuate the way Tommy’s still holding her hand as though he means to kiss it. 

“Good,” he says, leaning down to run his lips over her knuckles. “I was beginning to worry you didn’t like me.” 

Ada giggles. How long has it been since Tommy last heard her giggle? Not since they were kids. Back when-- 

Ada’s gaze betrays that she’s thinking the same thing. He can’t help but flush. 

Ada had been Tommy’s first kiss. Common enough for siblings like them, immersed too often and too early in the world of adults and left too little with supervision, but what followed was less common. Because Ada was Tommy’s second kiss, too, and his first blowjob. And his first fuck. 

He knew what it was like in some families, with girls getting used by fathers, brothers, and uncles like live-in whores, but not with his Ada. He had kissed her, the first time, but after? After it had been her that crawled into his bed and begged him for another. It had been Ada that asked to  _ see his thing _ when Tommy was 11 and insisted on kissing  _ it _ .

But Tommy couldn’t deny, they’d both made it a habit. He gave back just as good as he got, and for a little girl she sure did give a lot. He lost his virginity first, though, and Ada almost didn’t forgive him for it. She felt like he took something that was hers and gave it away to someone that had no right. In a way, Tommy couldn’t disagree, especially not when she’d pushed him back against the kitchen door in the middle of the night and demanded he make it up to her right there. See, the girl he’d lost it to had seemed so eager, right up until they were fucking when suddenly her face went tight and sour. But Ada? Cradled in Tommy’s arms with her back against that  _ creaky fucking door, Jesus Christ _ , Ada had whispered and gasped against Tommy’s cheek, moaning through her teeth. Ada had begged him for more, told him that his cock filled her up just right, that he was made for her and only her, that god must have made them siblings just to make sure they would find each other and do  _ this _ for as many years as they could. Where in the fuck had a 14 year old learned to say shit like that? So Tommy fucked Ada’s filthy mouth, too, right against that door. 

In a much nicer house, Tommy slides his hand up around Ada’s wrist and tugs her down. It’s been a long time (a  _ long _ fucking time), but she still finds her balance on his lap. Once her skirts are pulled up and out of the way, of course. 

“Tommy,” she breathes, mouth going slack as he draws a finger up her arm (bare now that she has abandoned her jacket on the floor). 

“Remember this?” 

“If I remember right it was a bit  _ more _ than this, but--” Tommy pinches her arm for her rudeness. “ _ Ow! _ It’s not like I could ever forget. Think this is the only house you’ve ever lived in that we haven’t fucked in.” 

“Not much of an accomplishment considering we only lived in one house.” 

“But we certainly tried, didn’t we?”

Ada undoes his collar before he can register it or stop her, pushing those thin, cold fingers down between the fabric and the heat of his chest. He can’t tell if his heart is thumping so hard from the cocaine or the threat of Ada’s touch. 

“Remind me,” Tommy says. 

She does. 

She sucks marks into his neck that mean he won’t be able to lie with Lizzie for a week without making up some story about a whorehouse or a noose. She undresses him the way no woman has been brave enough to since before the war, tracing her fingers over the scars Tommy suddenly finds himself wishing she knew better. 

He never meant for them to grow apart like they did. But, but, but… Life gets in the way. 

So Tommy kisses her back, tasting the gin and bitter coca in her mouth the same as his. She’s always tasted just like him, like nothing but his own sweat and the bedsheets they shared long past an appropriate age. Whether anybody knew didn’t even occur to them at first. That would have required someone to care at all. 

“Get up,” Tommy says against Ada’s mouth, “on the desk.” 

He sits her up there again, right on top of the papers of the men he respects so little, and appreciates how this feels like work worth doing. This feels like planting a garden, like fixing a broken thing. 

He pushes Ada’s skirts up to her hips and she opens his pants, shoving his suspenders off his shoulders so that they hang limply by his hips. He starts to pull her drawers down but they get caught on her stocking garters. Of course, Tommy thinks, cursing his numb fingers and women’s clothing, always the fucking garters. But Ada doesn’t let that stop them, just unhooks the stockings with a deftness Tommy can barely believe and drops her underwear to the floor. If Tommy accidentally kicks them under his desk, well, that’s a problem for tomorrow. He can hardly afford to care with the way Ada is pushing his fingers into her hot, waiting cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re--” 

“So wet, Tommy, like you wouldn’t believe. Fuck. No one makes me like this but you. There’s nobody like you.” 

Tommy skates his nose up and down her neck as he pumps his hand in and out of her, trying to find a familiar rhythm that he knows his body must remember, somehow. And he does, oh, he does, because it is exactly like they say. You never forget your first. And Ada was always  _ really _ his first. 

He fucks into her with a force he didn’t know was in him anymore, plumbing her cunt like if he gets deep enough he might find home. She weeps with her arms around his neck, crossing her ankles at his back and saying just like she used to, “made for you, made for you, Tommy, fucking perfect, made to take you.” 

And Tommy cums in what could have been an hour or could have been five minutes, head all cottony from the liquor and the comedown. Ada follows right behind, milking him for every drop, taking a risk they long ago learned how to get around but which still feels like something of a thrill. 

Tommy laughs into the rumpled fabric at Ada’s shoulders, strange tears stinging at his eyes. Coming in his own sister. If only their mother could see them now. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! comments and kudos make my heart soar!


End file.
